The bodies, debris and rubble I must paint it all,
Women and children covered by blankets pulled by a horse.
Cities and empires that rise and fall,
Shouldn’t nature follow its own course?
The massacre, madness and torture will never end,
After all this fighting, will we ever be clean?
If we continue our souls will surely twist and bend,
All of this before and after nineteen-fourteen.
On the brighter side I found happiness in a cat,
And a Heavenly place named Cookham.
I always return there with such a blat,
From art school to a table of tea, toast and jam.
The war brought with it denial, confusion and then hysteria,
I think of and try to paint truth, happiness and love.
I wish to return to my beloved Wisteria,
Back off the train in time for tea waiting on the stove.
After the demise of my brother Sydney and so many a fellow,
I dramatically changed my views to life and death.
So many taken away by the flag of black, red and yellow,
I will paint the truth right down to my last breath.
What is it now that I must portray with paint,
Please do tell me again sir.
Whatever you may think I never was or will be any saint,
Just a man from Cookham, I’m just Stanley Spencer.
See more from this writer at:
Facebook page - Marie’s Fiction and Twitter page - @MarieFiction